


the king's mask

by sureimiku



Series: bad things happen bingo [1]
Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Apologies, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of apologies, M/M, Nightmares, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sureimiku/pseuds/sureimiku
Summary: There are a number of thoughts that paralyze and stir Richard in his sleep. Sometimes it’s a nightmare of Lambda possessing him for the first time in the Catacombs. Sometimes it’s him witnessing his father’s death first-hand.Tonight’s dream is not one that happens so often.
Relationships: Asbel Lhant/Richard Windor
Series: bad things happen bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008198
Kudos: 10
Collections: Bad Things Happen





	the king's mask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [komorykatt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorykatt/gifts).



> yeaah, LET'S GET THIS BTH BINGO ON THE ROAD
> 
> req #1 was richass + trying not to cry, so i decided to take the chance and delve into the guilt that still lingers inside richard after main arc. all the apologies he offers makes me Emo, he rlly didn't want to hurt his friends the way he did, so i tried my best to convey that in this fic 
> 
> thanks for reading! kudos n comments are always appreciated

Richard would be lying if he said he no longer dreamt of the incident that happened seven years ago, and the one that happened a mere few months ago. This refers to the whole rescue party that came for him deep inside the shaft, and at that moment in time, he experienced darkness like no other. One that cried for him to not go, one that latched and clung on for its dear life. 

Today is the same as all the others. Perform kingly duties, visit his citizens and listen to their problems, address any issues arising outside the country. Rinse and repeat. Each day is like the last, nothing standing out in particular; such is the job of a ruler. 

One would think the king would be glad to rest after such a long day of work and putting a mask on for the public, garbs and trinkets and all. In truth, the only time that mask comes off is at night, when the only people perceiving him are his servants or Asbel. Yes, thinking back on it, it had only been a month or so since he came to stay in Windor. Asbel claimed it to be a ‘business trip’, but he just wanted an excuse to see his friend again, especially after all the time they spent separated from each other. 

He never really got the chance to sit down and grieve, let alone reflect on his actions the past several months. After all, there is a face he has to put on for his people, one that reads that he is determined and full of integrity, never to falter even once. 

Asbel is the first to notice that his childhood friend is not doing so well; he’s pacing back and forth across the castle balcony, eyes searching for something he knows is unreachable. There are habits of the king that Asbel can note right off the bat: being unable to sit still, running his hand through his hair in an attempt to calm down. Even at today’s affairs meeting, his tone of voice quivered and shook, words laced with uncertainty. 

“Hey.” He gently shakes Richard’s shoulder. “You okay?” The king is so dazed that he does not acknowledge this action, his eyes still fixed on the sky. 

Asbel tries again. “Richard.” The increase of volume causes him to jump and turn his attention to the familiar voice. “Are you okay?” 

Richard runs a hand through his gold locks. “I’m fine, Asbel. Just a bit tired is all.” As Asbel expected, the tone of his voice does not match his words. 

“It doesn’t seem that way. You look like you’ve been on edge the whole day.”

“I assure you it’s nothing major.” Richard returns his gaze towards the melting sun, basking in the last of its warm rays. “I’ll turn in momentarily, I have some last minute letters to Fendel that need reviewing.” He turns to the balcony exit, pausing before opening its grand doors. “Have dinner without me. I don’t know how long I’m going to take; I wish to not keep you waiting.”

Asbel does not even get the chance to retort, to say that he _would_ wait before the doors shut. 

* * *

There’s a touch of unease in the king’s stomach as he turns in for bed. The dinner he had earlier was perfectly fine; one of his favorites, even. The staff members treated him normally, all giving kind words regarding his hard work.

Asbel isn’t here yet. Maybe he‘d taken up Richard’s word and had dinner of his own accord for once? He _does_ insist on always accompanying him when the time came. 

There are a number of thoughts that paralyze and stir Richard in his sleep. Sometimes it’s a nightmare of Lambda possessing him for the first time in the Catacombs. Sometimes it’s him witnessing his father’s death first-hand. Tonight’s dream is not one that happens so often. It’s the first occurrence, in fact, and it goes like this: 

He’s in the depths of the despised Ghardia Shaft, untouched by no one but lurking monsters spun by his own hands. The pit of the dungeon is captured in a swirl of blues and greens, white rocks adding onto the mysterious, unnatural atmosphere. 

Distracting him from the ill-favored atmosphere is the click of boots across the rocky surface, which come to a halt in front of him. Asbel’s gaze is burning into him, into the false and malicious color his eyes have taken. 

Then, he begins: “Come back to us, Richard. I won’t give up on you, not yet. None of this is your fault.” 

“You… mean that?” Somehow, the words that come out of his mouth aren’t his. Someone’s playing him like a puppet from the inside his mind–– Lambda. 

“Yes, I mean it.” Asbel’s sword is sheathed now, his hands reaching out to take his friend’s. “Do you know why I won’t give up on you, Richard?”

“Why?” Richard shuts his eyes. The next thing he knows, his body moves, but not under his command.

When he opens his eyes, the long metallic sword in his hand is driven through Asbel's torso, blood sticking to his snow white coat. A trickle escapes from his mouth as he tries to pull the sword out— but fails. Richard can’t divert his eyes from what he’s just done with his _own_ two hands. 

He hates a number of things at this moment. Hates the fact that a weakling like him gave into evil all those years ago and transformed him into something his friends would never accept. Hates the expression that’s taken onto Asbel’s face–– one that reads confusion, one that reads disappointment and disgust that his friend had taken such an ungodly form. 

“...Don’t speak to me.” He turns his head away from his now pierced friend, on the verge of dying, right in front of him. 

“I thought I could trust you, _Richard.”_ He hates the tone he’s using–– innocent, pinning the guilt on Richard and throwing away all traces of kindness he held for the man. Asbel opens his mouth to speak again but it’s distorted, ringing agonizingly in Richard’s ears.

“Just...be quiet!” The twisting colors of the sky and screaming of several voices he can’t quite remember cause Richard to tremble. He throws his head in his hands, quivering and shaking until the darkness overtakes him and— 

“Richard!” 

He wakes with an unpleasant taste in his mouth, sweat trickling down his face despite the coolness of the bedroom. For a moment he doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare meet eyes with the person who called his name. What time is it, even? He couldn’t have been asleep for long, but the darkness of the room and the paleness of the moonshine speak otherwise. 

“Richard,” Asbel repeats, “what happened?” 

Nothing comes out of his mouth. He’s _scared._ Terrified that the person he just killed is in front of him, asking what the dreaded dream is about. It feels like an imaginary claw is clutching at his throat, telling him to not speak, to not even think of involving another close friend in his problems again--

“Listen to me.” Asbel places a hand over Richard’s to ease the shaking. When he puts on this unwavering, firm facial expression, Richard knows he’s not going to go back to sleep until he feels better. The lord of Lhant never gives up a fight, especially one for someone close to him. “What happened?” 

When he registers that Asbel is perfectly fine, devoid of injuries and no blood trickling down his mouth or stomach, he fights the stinging sensation in his eyes. “I… I k-killed…” The words stay caught in his throat, but the other man can tell what the rest of that sentence is in an instant. 

A period of silence, until Asbel breaks it. “Come here.” Richard had curled off to the far end of the bed, putting a fair amount of distance between him and the other man. So he obliges, closing the space between them, and right as he does––

Asbel pulls him into an embrace, hands digging deep into Richard's back to let him know he’s there, alive and breathing. To let him know that it’s okay, that he forgives him for the pain and guilt he might have caused. 

“I...” Richard's voice chokes, on the brink of breaking down again _._

“Let it out.” 

For the first time in years, he allows tears held back for too long to spill. “I’m _sorry.”_ He whispers shakily. “I’m sorry, Asbel. I’m sorry.” Reassurances are met with his apologies, reinforcing the fact that it's _alright._

_Sorry for mending your heart back after being away for so long, only to break it a second time._

_Sorry for making you travel to the end of the world to put an end to me._

“You’re certain you can forgive me? You don’t...resent me?” Two questions he ended up always asking, although the answer was the same every time. 

“You know I would never in a million years.” The lord of Lhant runs one hand through the light colored locks, keeping the other wrapped tightly around Richard’s back. “No more thoughts of me hating you, okay?”

Richard sniffs, tightening his hold on the black colored shirt. The two of them sit like this for a long time-- Asbel has no intention of letting go.

“...I’m fine now.” The room seems a bit hazy now, but it’s likely due to the tiredness and weariness of crying. 

“Better?” Asbel pulls himself away gently, wiping away any leftover tears. Richard is hesitant but nods as the pair of hands release from his shoulders. 

“Please... do not tell anyone. I fear they would see the king as merely a man who can’t move on.” 

“I would never. Sometimes... the king of Barona has to let his guard down once in a while.” Asbel presses his lips against Richard’s cheek, still a bit salty and wet from tears. “Take as long as you need to recover. I’ll be here. Always.” 

Asbel tucks himself under the duvet’s cover once again, but not before pressing a kiss on his lover’s forehead and hugging him for the rest of the night. 


End file.
